<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>faith in the hands of the wicked by nosleepstillweak</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672559">faith in the hands of the wicked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosleepstillweak/pseuds/nosleepstillweak'>nosleepstillweak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>trust issues [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Whump, everyone gets a hug in the end hehehe, except not this time, no beta we die like jason todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:21:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosleepstillweak/pseuds/nosleepstillweak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes trust can be given, but not earned; Jason finds himself in need of help, but Tim isn't sure if he trusts himself to be the one to offer it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>trust issues [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>251</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>faith in the hands of the wicked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my first Batfam fic! This started off as more of a blurb, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I knew I needed to flesh it out into a story. I hope you enjoy it! :&gt;</p><p>(also ignore any egregious medical inaccuracies LMAO)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jason still isn’t quite sure what happened.</p><p>One moment, he’d been crouched on the rooftop of an abandoned apartment complex. With Bruce off world, he was actually quite enjoying a weekend without the Bats watching his every step. There was supposedly a high-stakes drug deal going on in the warehouse across the street; three stark white trucks drove up to the front of the building. Jason had studied them closely, grinning like a shark who’d just spotted prey. Suddenly, he spotted something else in his peripheral: he turned just in time to see the flash of a red cape disappearing into the shadows.</p><p>Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun firing off somewhere in the distance.</p><p>Now, he’s lying flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him and a suspicious warmth spreading across his chest.</p><p>It’s the shock alone that keeps him from screaming. Jason belatedly slaps a hand against the hole in his chest with the clarity he already feels slipping away. <em>A stupid mistake</em>, the Pit snarls from within him, <em>you let your guard down</em>. He should’ve checked his surroundings first before he got set up. He should’ve been working more proactively when he’d seen the line of trucks pull up. He should’ve stopped himself from getting distracted by the sight of–</p><p>The masked face of a familiar vigilante appears in his line of vision.</p><p>“H-Hey, Timbo.”</p><p>“Codenames,” Tim chides halfheartedly, but the gesture is betrayed by the frantic way the lenses of his mask rove over the scene before him. He looks scared. One hand is hovering uselessly over the mess of Jason’s chest while the other is jamming a finger to the comm in his ear.</p><p>“Red Robin. It’s Hood, and it’s bad; GSW, through and through, definitely caught the spleen, possibly nicked a lung...”</p><p>Jason is coherent enough to understand the magnitude of what’s being said; he still can’t help but chuckle. “Ha. No spleen. We’ll be the No Spleen Brothers.”</p><p>The last word rolls off his tongue in delirium; Tim tenses on it before managing a strained chuckle himself. There’s no humor in the gesture, though, and it gets lost under the wet coughs that force their way out of Jason’s throat. Tim’s hands tremble slightly as he moves to unclip the first aid kit from his belt and readies the first field dressing against his older brother’s chest.</p><p>“If a spleen is the only thing you lose after this, then I’d be more than happy to adopt the moniker.”</p><p>“Smartass.” Tim pulls him up slightly to plug the exit wound and Jason clenches his jaw against the pressure and subsequent spike of pain. The younger boy murmurs a soft apology, but Jason could do without the pity.</p><p>He already knows he’s dying.</p><p><em>Second time’s the charm</em>, that sick little voice in the back of his head purrs; his vision starts to fade around the edges. Jason’s mind struggles to focus and his mouth starts moving of its own accord, uttering the first thing he can think of: “You’re v-very smart.”</p><p>A laugh startles itself out of Tim. “Is that a compliment? From our dearly beloved Red Hood? Man, if I had known you’d be so nice, I would’ve–”</p><p>“And also an ass.”</p><p>“Ah, there we go.”</p><p>The weak attempt at snark is enough to send a small roll of tension out of Tim’s shoulders. A part of Jason finds itself relieved; another part wonders why he cares in the first place. He tried to kill Tim, only a few months ago, and now they’re allies? Brothers? Who’s to say Tim isn’t just here to finish the job?</p><p>Jason’s head lolls to the side.</p><p>“Hey. Hey. Hood. Eyes on me.” A slick hand guides his chin upright; Jason lets hazy green eyes flit back to the masked face of a suddenly very worried-looking vigilante. “There we go. You’re not allowed to zone out on me when I can literally see <em>through </em>you right now.”</p><p>“M-Most .45’s don’t do this much damage,” Jason swallows against the mass of blood and mucus working its way up his throat, “even at close r-range.”</p><p>“They do not. Unfortunately, our little sniper friend didn’t seem to get the memo.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Jason hums softly as his eyes drift away from the crimson highlights of Red Robin’s uniform. <em>He fucking stole those from me</em>, Jason whines in his head. There’s a weird syrupiness to his thoughts: one moment, he’s complaining about brotherly decal theft–the next, he’s thinking about how nice it would be to take a nap right about now.</p><p>“Hey!” Jason flinches weakly at the sudden burst of emotion. Tim’s shoulders are heaving and he manages a shaky breath in an attempt to school his emotions again.</p><p>“I know it hurts, but, please, I need you to stay focused right now, Jason.”</p><p>“C-Codenames...” the older vigilante pants out breathlessly. He aims for a humored grin, but it gets caught on his face as more of a grimace; Tim doesn’t laugh in response this time. Jason coughs again, warm liquid dribbling down his chin, and he wonders why the boy he’d once tried to murder is now trying so hard to save his life.</p><p>Tim is frantically rifling through the first aid kit for another dressing to add to the growing pile of red-soaked gauze. Jason slowly blinks up at the reapplied pressure and lazily studies the burst of red spreading through the once white bandage.</p><p>“Didn’t know I had… some much blood in me…”</p><p>“Don’t talk.” Tim hisses sharply in sudden realization. “I’m pretty sure your lung is compromised.”</p><p>Jason slaps a clumsy hand onto his chest. “... ‘m like a ketchup packet.”</p><p>“Seriously, Jason, you need to conserve your energy.”</p><p>“S-Sorry, Timmy.”</p><p>“Don’t apologize either.”</p><p>“Sorry…for before.” Jason slurs as his blood-slick fingers spasm on top of Tim’s. “I hurt you… b-bad.”</p><p>“Yeah, you did,” Red Robin mutters quietly. He pauses thoughtfully before continuing. “But, you were also crazy and being lied to by people you trusted. In the end, I know you didn’t mean it, so I forgive you.”</p><p>Jason instinctively objects: “Lies...”</p><p>“I’m telling the truth.”</p><p>The seemingly normal statement sends a jolt of fear through Jason: even in delirium, he knows that “the truth” isn’t something that comes so easily in their line of work.</p><p>“It...that bad?”</p><p>A calculating pause.</p><p>“... You’ll live.”</p><p>“...lies...”</p><p>“Stop talking,” Tim snaps, but there’s a worried edge to the command. Blood drips freely from his gloves as he again launches a finger to the comm in his ear. “I need backup, <em>now</em>.”</p><p>Jason stops talking. Without the distraction of words, he can hear the roar of the blood in his ears. He faintly wonders how Bruce will react to hearing that his second son has died for a second time.</p><p>“Please, Jay.” A sudden, choked plea, the dam of emotion finally giving way. “I’m trying. Please just <em>stay awake</em>.”</p><p>Jason’s trying, too. It’s just too hard to drag his eyes open again after every blink.          </p><p>“<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>The night sky is dark and starless and Jason can’t do anything when the darkness reaches out and pulls him under.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tim has to be strong.</p><p>He <em>is</em> strong. He was once Robin, right-hand to Batman, and now he’s Red Robin, a legend of Gotham; he’s the owner of Wayne Enterprises, one of the biggest companies in the entire Eastern Seaboard; and, he’s the leader of Teen Titans and all the justice they’ve manifested throughout the country, the world, the <em>galaxy</em>–</p><p>He’s scared. He’s <em>terrified</em>. In this moment, Tim is more scared than he’d been when the boy wearing his hero’s face surged into the Tower with eyes like pools of acid and beat him within an inch of his life.</p><p>Why does he still <em>care</em> so much?</p><p>He doesn’t want to show it; he doesn’t want to make Hood slip further into shock and go catatonic; but Tim feels the facade waning with every spurt of blood that pulses underneath the rapidly soaking wad of gauze under his palms. His cheeks start to dampen as tears flow freely through the lenses of the mask.</p><p>“C’mon, Hood...”</p><p>Hood’s helmet and mask are discarded somewhere off to the side; <em>Jason</em> is staring up at the sky with red-painted lips and glazed-over eyes. His body armor is partially compacted, turned inward at a hole in a futile attempt to stop the bullet that sailed through his chest with ease. Tim’s sure he could find the bullet itself, innocently resting somewhere on the rooftop. It will probably be reinforced with some sort of special alloy, given the supposed distance of the sniper and the damage it still managed to do.</p><p>He momentarily considers collecting it for research but then shivers at the thought of having to clean it of his brother’s blood.</p><p>Tim’s startled from that train of thought as there’s sudden movement in his line of vision: Jason’s hands slowly start to slide away from his chest. Tim freezes completely. The older boy’s eyes are closed. Sweat mats his pink-tinged forelock flush against his forehead. With the line of crimson dribbling down his chin and the pool of thick, cooling liquid rapidly growing around him, Jason looks dead.</p><p>His chest shudders through the next inhale and time itself seems to stop.</p><p><em>The man who tried to murder you now lays with his life in your hands,</em> a voice murmurs wickedly in the back of Tim’s mind. He slowly looks down at his blood-covered hands.</p><p>
  <em>You have the power to let go.</em>
</p><p>He feels his grip loosen from the bloated clump of bandages, rivulets of blood peaking through unrestricted.</p><p>
  <em> You have the power to make him pay.</em>
</p><p>His thoughts wander to the memory of broken bones and bullet grazes and warm liquid sliding down his neck and the confusion, the pain, the <em>fear</em> of being too tired to stay awake but too scared to close his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>You have the power to let Fate run her course.</em>
</p><p>Jason’s heart flutters under Tim’s palms. Faint and dying like a little robin that left the nest too soon; Tim could just let go and–</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Tim takes a watery breath. He thinks about a grieving Batman, desperately tearing Gotham apart in search of a solution he could never find. He remembers old pictures of Nightwing, feet dangling over the edges of buildings and eyes glued to the streets below as if he wondered if only the ground would catch him.</p><p>He still feels the cobble scraping against his shoes as he trudged up the steps to Wayne Manor that first time with his arms brimming with evidence and secrets on his lips.</p><p>He still remembers the hope on Bruce’s face when he’d donned the costume of a dead kid and smiled like it was his.</p><p>He thinks of a young boy pulled straight from the underbelly of Crime Alley and trained to be a soldier; a scared, hurt teenager who’d been failed too many times by his only family.</p><p>“No,” Tim repeats firmly as he fervently reapplies pressure, “I’m not giving up on you, Jason. I won’t let you die.”</p><p>The words must be magic because Jason gags up a hunk of bloody mucus and takes another deep, wheezing breath. He groans, eyes scrunched closed as he rides through the pain.</p><p>“Just a little longer, Jay.”</p><p>The plea hangs in the air and then there’s silence. Deafening silence. Jason doesn’t stir when Tim pushes down further. The younger boy just sits and prays that help will come in time.</p><p>What feels like a century later, the comms finally crackle to life.</p><p>“Nightwing. Suspect has been apprehended. ETA to your position, fifteen seconds.”</p><p>Nightwing will save them. Jason will be okay. Tim sags in relief and repeats the words like a mantra as he counts down the seconds in his head.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The medbay is unnaturally still.</p><p>The sound of a heart monitor echoes off of the walls, and the ventilator whirs softly as it pushes air in and out of Jason’s chest, but the room is otherwise shrouded by a weighted silence. Tim dozes fitfully, unable to sleep properly in the uncomfortable plastic of the bedside chair. Jason remains pale and unmoving beneath the layers of wires, bandages, and blankets bundled around him.</p><p>A whirl of the elevator startles Tim fully awake. The sound of careful footsteps edges its way closer in his direction. Tim just groans and slouches further in his chair, resting his forehead against the edge of the medical cot. He doesn’t want to look up and see the disappointment on Bruce’s face, or the ill-shrouded pity on Dick’s.</p><p>Tim was supposed to be <em>strong</em>. He should’ve been able to intercept the sniper before the shot was ever made; he should’ve been strong enough to haul Jason back to the cave ages before backup ever came; he should’ve been able to save Jason <em>this</em> time, save him for everyone else–even if not for himself–he should’ve–should’ve–should’ve–</p><p>“Hey.” An open palm gently rests against Tim’s shoulder blades. Dick. A part of Tim wants to whirl around and crash into a hug, but he’d rather not make a fool of himself tonight. Instead, he lifts his head towards his oldest brother and tries to muster the courage to speak.</p><p>“...You got the guy, right?”</p><p>In lieu of verbal affirmation, Dick just holds up a hand with deeply bruised knuckles and flashes a wicked grin that reminds Tim of photos of a younger, brasher Robin who’d swung through Gotham like a wolf on a hunt. He can’t help but smile slightly at his oldest brother’s now rare gaudiness.</p><p>“I don’t suspect that he’ll be eating solid food any sooner than Jason will,” Dick jerks his head slightly towards the cot. Tim nods solemnly, taking another shaky breath before he trusts himself to speak again.</p><p>“Is he… is Jay going to be okay?”</p><p>Dick sighs wearily as he gazes upon the still body in the cot. “Well, he did end up losing his spleen, and he still has a partially collapsed lung. Blood loss coupled with oxygen deprivation will probably have him on the ventilator for at least another couple days, not to mention the rest of the mess that the bullet made. Leslie says he’s lucky to be alive, but that’s not the first time anyone’s said that about Jason.”</p><p>The morbid undertones of the joke aren’t completely distasteful, but Tim still swallows down the taste of bile.</p><p>“Hey, Little R,” Dick’s voice lowers almost to a whisper. “You got there in time. You saved him, and he’s gonna be okay.”</p><p>Normally, there are few things worth more than an reassurance from the beloved Dick Grayson, but Tim just sighs against the lump in his throat. He stares down at his hands, still pink and raw from violently scrubbing off blood.</p><p>
  <em>You have the power to let go.</em>
</p><p>The guilt looms over his head like the shadow of empty shoes he could never fill.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Four days later, Tim is still holding vigil over Jason’s bedside. He’d brought down his laptop in an attempt to get some work done, but he hasn’t been able to concentrate with the whirl of anxious thoughts in his head. Leslie had come by in the morning to remove the ventilator. She’d smiled sadly at Jason’s sleeping form, patted Tim gently on the back, and reassured him that his brother would be awake in a few more hours.</p><p>The gesture had hardly appeased Tim; if anything, it now only makes him more anxious.</p><p>What if Jason wakes up angry, demanding to be left alone? What if he’s so out of it that he lashes out at the first person he sees–the person he’d wanted to put six feet under less than a year ago? What if he’d rather wake up next to Bruce, or Dick, or Alfred, or anyone other than the one person who represented the culmination of everything that he’d lost in his life–</p><p>Tim is so completely lost in thought that he doesn’t realize that he’s staring Jason down right as the older boy stirs awake.</p><p>“Jesus,” Jason slurs groggily as he lazily sweeps the oxygen mask away from his mouth. “With a death glare like that, I thought you were Bruce for a second.”</p><p>For all of his pensiveness, Tim huffs in humored exasperation. “You should probably stay still; it’s not like a bullet tore straight through your chest less than a week ago.”</p><p>“Yeah, that checks out,” Jason winces slightly as he moves to push himself up anyways. “I’m assuming you got the fucker?”</p><p>Tim nods jerkily. He gently guides his brother up by the elbow, mostly just for the sake of contact and confirming that this isn’t a dream–confirming that Jason isn’t a phantom who’s going to melt away under his fingers. His older brother doesn’t seem to mind, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh and staring down at the lump of gauze on his chest.</p><p>“Another scar for the collection, but I’ll live.” He snickers sardonically to himself. There’s an awkward pause afterwards; Tim bores holes into his shoes as he avoids the acid green eyes he can feel staring him down from the cot.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>He dares himself to look up at his brother’s face.</p><p>“Thanks for saving my life–”</p><p>“A part of me didn’t want to,” Tim blurts out the confession before he can stop himself. Jason doesn’t ask for an explanation, but Tim keeps speaking anyway. “You almost stopped breathing and this little voice in my head kept whispering these awful things, and I was scared, but I was also scared <em>then</em>, and I thought of the Tower, and your death, and Bruce and Dick, and the memories just started mushing together, and it all just made me–”</p><p>“Doubt?”</p><p>Tim nods awkwardly, letting his head fall in shame. His older brother just hums in response.</p><p>“Happens to me too, sometimes.” Tim looks up in shock at the sudden confession. Jason absentmindedly picks at his sheets, solemn green eyes flickering through too many emotions at once. “There are moments when I see Bruce or Dick holding out their hand for help and I just want to slap them away. Let them feel what I felt.”</p><p>Jason ends it off with a sneer, quickly closing his eyes for a moment when they blaze towards acid. He breathes deep, no doubt aggravating the wound in his chest, and then looks at Tim with a sobriety that probably neither of them thought was possible after a dip in the Pit.</p><p>“But there’s a reason why I don’t, and I don’t owe it to anyone to explain that reason. Neither do you.”</p><p>Tim immediately opens his mouth to argue, but Jason fixes him with a hard glare that has him snapping his mouth shut and staring towards the foot of the bed. Somehow, though, the tension in the room dips substantially. There’s rustling on the cot and then Jason’s propped on his elbows, leaning over the edge in his brother’s direct line of vision. Despite the exhaustion drawn on his face, Jason grins sincerely and holds out his hand for a handshake.</p><p>“So, again: thank you for saving my life, Tim.”</p><p>The younger boy just stares down at the outstretched hand with watery eyes before surging forward without warning; Jason gasps in shock as he’s suddenly supporting a bundle of sobbing little brother.</p><p>There are brief moments of alertness, confusion and eventual realization before a calloused hand comes up to rub steadily less unsure circles into Tim’s shuddering back. Through gentle pats and whispered reassurances, the sobs slowly taper off to small hiccups. Jason shifts to get a better grip on the hug, but wheezes in pain as an angry twinge sparks through his chest.</p><p>“Yeah, that smarts,” he announces humoredly through a sharp wince. Tim immediately flushes in embarrassment and tries to move away, but large arms bracket him and clench just a little bit tighter. The heart monitor chirps softly in the corner of the room, sure and steady. The final knot of worry unravels in Tim’s chest and he sniffles away the last of his tears, letting himself relax into the hug once more.</p><p>After a moment of contented silence, a thought resurfaces in his mind: “I guess we’re officially No Spleen Brothers now.”</p><p>Jason laughs again. The vibration sends a warm feeling to Tim’s heart; he leans just a little bit further into his brother’s chest.</p><p>They sit quietly for another long moment.</p><p>“...Okay, that’s enough, Replacement. I don’t want Dickface to walk in here and get any ideas.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tim does not relinquish his grip from the hug, and Jason’s too weak (and unwilling) to push him away. Inevitably, Dick finds them still embracing and squawks about being left out of the now-group hug. Jason growls something about reaching for his guns and Tim just laughs, squeezing his arms a little tighter around his older brothers.</p><p> </p><p>...And that’ll do it! Thank you so much for reading! I know it’s not perfect, but I was really happy that I finally had the courage to post this here. Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always welcome, and I hope you all have a great rest of your day. :&gt;</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>